When the man was a boy, he loved to go swimming. He’d go for hours and hours. His slim pale body tepid in the cool June mornings. Burnt like a Boston Baked Bean by the 4th of July. Both of his parents worked, so he’d catch a ride with the neighbors who camped out at the local pool like a small army. His mother sent him with a single peanut butter and jelly sandwich wrapped in tin foil. He played shuffleboard and spent countless hours scavenging along the bottom of the pool for discarded change in hopes of buying a soft pretzel. Never enough. Towards the end of the day weary and eyes burning with chlorine, he’d take one last swim. He’d swim out to the middle of the deepest part of the pool and float on his back with his eyes closed defiantly against the late afternoon sun. He’d float. He thought about the jelly fish he’d seen swim at an aquarium in Baltimore once. Not swimming but undulating.
